Blood Lines
by SenorTact
Summary: Faith, Xander, and crew go to Gotham to investigate a series of murders, but there are other surprises waiting for them. BTVSBatman crossover
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Sense my last name is neither Kane, nor Whedon it would be a correct assumption that I own none of the characters involved in this story.

**Pairings: **Though not the focus of the story the following pairings will be mentioned, or referred to. F/X, Grayson/Gordon, Wayne/Kyle, Drake/Brown and Drake/?

**Timelines: **BTVS post Chosen. I have mauled the Batman timeline to suit my own ends, placing Bruce Wayne in his early fifties.

**A/N**: I will be submitting this tail here in increments of four chapters at a time. Sorry for any inconvenience and thank you for you patients.

**Blood Lines**

**Prologue**

With the reputation that Gotham City had earned over the years many laymen were often surprised when they heard that the G.C.P.D. is ranked in the top ten in the United States for efficiency, or that the unemployment rate in Gotham was the lowest of any city of its size in the country. The fact that generated the most surprise in many people unfamiliar with the science of statistics, however, was that the dark city of the east cost was not included among the communities with the highest per capita murder rate.

That is, until the numbers for domestic homicide, deaths caused by persons known to the victim, are removed from the equation.

Twenty years ago Gotham ranked third in 'random' murders, but then, seemingly over night, the death rate in Santa Carla, California dropped dramatically and the city that straddled the Gotham River rose to number two. Then, when another small Californian town by the name of Sunnydale collapsed into a sinkhole, in an event that three and a half years later still sparked debate amongst seismologist, Gotham unwillingly took its place as the serial murder capitol.

A fact that most people knew nothing about and mystified the handful of people 'in the know' was that Gotham City ranked last in the Western Hemisphere for supernatural activity. So it was understandable, to a certain extent, that the dark haired young watcher and his three slayer companions watched with anticipation and a touch of amusement instead of fear as a half dozen shadowy figures surrounded them.

"Rona?" the young man asked the dark skinned girl over his shoulder. "You feel anything?"

"Disgust? Contempt?" Rona shrugged.

"Bored." The leather clad brunet added.

"Hungry." innocent looking red head chimed in.

"So, that would be a big no on the dust bunny front."

"But a big yes on the light workout front, Xan." Faith added.

"Yo, One Eyed Willy." One of the thugs, obviously the leader, exclaimed as he stepped forward to face the young man. "You need to be paying less attention to your bitches and more attention to me."

Xander's shoulders stiffened and with a forced smile the one eyed man turned back to gang leader.

"You have my attention." He said through his teeth.

"I don't know who you think you are, Capt. Jack, but the only one allowed to pimp ass in this part of town is Moe."

Ignoring the intensifying death glares from the three women, the street tough puffed up his chest and continued.

"Now what's going to happen is, me and my boys are gonna have ourselves a little party with your talent." He said pulling back his shirt to reveal a large automatic. "And when we're done, Patches, we're gonna dump what's left of your body in harbor."

A smile slowly crept across the thug's face as he watched his intended victim's eye widen and his face pale when he flashed his weapon. That is, until the one eyed man spoke.

"Dear God, please tell me you don't have that hand cannon pointed at your crotch with the safety off."

Unable to help himself the street tough looked down.

And the fight was over.

With unexpected speed Xander reached out and grabbed the man's gun hand and, holding it in place, delivered a nose breaking head-but between the thug's eyes. Continuing his forward momentum the young watcher swept the tough's legs out from under him and followed the thug to the ground. A knee to the diaphragm and fist to the side of the head later the once cocky mugger lay unconscious on the ground.

By the time Xander regained his feet the tree slayers had finished off the remainder of the gang and were waiting for him

"Nice moves, Xander," Violet congratulated, "We'll make a slay-him out of you yet."

"Slay-him?"

"You know, sense you're a guy." The red head volunteered. "Instead of a slay-her you would be a slay-him. And now that I think about it, that sounded a lot better before anyone said it out loud."

"Yeah, I think I'll stick with Xander, Vi. Thanks though"

After glancing around the cluttered alley where they stood for a moment the original Scooby clapped his hands together and continued on to a new subject.

"Well, let's get these idiots tied up, call the police and call it a night. We've got a lot of research to do tomorrow."

"I've got a better idea." Faith countered with a predatory snarl. "How about we hunt that Moe jerk-hole down and have us a little talk?"

Xander took a moment to stroke his chin in false contemplation.

"That's not a bad idea." He drawled. "I could use a little extra money."

"Screw you, Harris." Three voices called out in well practiced unison.

With a goofy grin the ex-carpenter raised his left hand to show Faith the gold band on his finger.

"Damn." She snarked with a grin. "I knew there had to be a reason for me avoid that whole 'I do' crap. Well, I guess we'll just come up with some other way to push your buttons."

Without missing a beat Vi and Rona exchanged a look and a grin.

"Screw you, Harris." The two chimed in chorus.

"Ha ha, freaking, ha."

BTVS----DC----BTVS----DC

Unnoticed by the four demon hunters one of the shadow on the rooftop above them detached itself from the surrounding darkness and raised a hand to the side of his head.

"Did you get all of that?" it whispered.

"I've got it." The grim voice from his headset responded. "It looks like we have some new players in town."

"Right, I'm going to follow them and see where they go."

"Agreed. I'm sending the tape to Oracle now. We'll see what she can dig up on our new friends."

With a nod Dick Grayson, better know to the world at large as Batman, kicked off from the rooftop and swung in pursuit of his new quarry.

**END PROLOGUE**

**Chapter 1: Picking Up the Trail**

Faith Harris slid through the early morning darkness of the town-home guided as much be the smell of stale coffee as the lone light shining from the kitchen. She paused in the doorway to take in what she saw. Her husband sat crouched over an impressive pile of books and newspaper clippings tiredly rubbing his eye while more piles of books lay scattered on the floor behind his chair. After a moment of watching she softly cleared her throat to make herself known.

"Oh, hi, hun. I didn't wake you did I?" Xander asked, offering a tired smile in apology.

"Bed's getting cold, boy-toy." She said as she took the all but forgotten mug of cold coffee from his hand and dumped it in the sink. "Unless you went form 'the-one-who-sees' to 'the-one-who-doesn't-sleep' you need to get to bed."

"Yeah, sorry." The dark haired man said as he tried to rub the sleep from his eye again. "I think I've almost got this sorted again. Demon fights? Not so much good for the keeping things organized."

"Good for scoring a vacation in the Cotswolds though."

"Not so much a vacation as learning to work together again. That Akquiel demon really did a number on the local team."

"A demon that starts arguments?" Faith shrugged. "I'm not feeling the terror here."

Xander turned in his chair to better face his wife.

"You remember when I got poisoned in L.A. a couple of years ago and went all?" He asked making vague gestures beside his head.

At Faith's shudder he continued.

"That knife was coated with bile from one of these demons. Out of control emotions, paranoia, anger. We're just lucky Sharon and Kalli did their throw-down in Shady Rest and not here. Two slayers going full out at each other could have destroyed the house."

"Yeah." The dark haired slayer snorted. "I've done the two slayer mambo. Been there, done that. Remember?"

"Oh yeah, sorry. I…

"You need to get to bed." She said pulling the watcher to his feet. "You've apologized three times and you haven't cracked one stupid joke. Both are telling me that you need some serious sack time."

"But…" Xander protested as he was lead from the room.

"Nah…ah…ah. We'll pick this up tomorrow. You're no good to me limp."

Faith paused and looked at the man for a moment.

"Damn. You are tired if give you a straight line like that and you've got nothing to say."

**BTVS----DC----BTVS----DC**

Alfred Pennyworth navigated the stairs down into the caves beneath Wayne manor with practiced ease despite his growing reliance in the cane that had become his constant companion over the last few years. At the base of the stairs the ageing butler took a moment to catch his breath and to adjust the oxygen feed that rested upon his upper lip. The familiar sight that greeted him, that of Bruce Wayne pouring himself into his latest mystery, at first had caused a measure of concern in the Englishman, but over the decades that concern had faded to be replaced by a sense of normalcy in the scene before him.

All that had changed in that time was that the middle-aged detective that had replaced the young avenger was now in turn being replaced by the ageing defender of Gotham.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, Alfred?"

"One could say the same for a certain ageing vigilante. As for oneself, I have found that the need for rest has become less urgent during the passing years."

The corner of the graying billionaire's lip twitched upward for a moment. "And William?"

"It would seem that my protégé is still burdened with a need for sleep."

A full smile graced Bruce's face. "Ah, the weakness of youth."

"Indeed, Master Bruce. And how goes your investigations the evening?"

His serious demeanor returned as the detective turned back to his monitor, unconsciously adjusting the brace on his leg. With the click of a button a motion capture image of a young redhead appeared on the screen.

"Violet Elizabeth Knowles: A native of Madison, Wisconsin. Age twenty, a student of Ohio State University and currently working on her paramedic's certification and as well as a masters in mythology.

With another click of a button Vi's image was replaced with one of a dark skinned beauty's.

"Rona Victoria Williams: Born in Atlanta, Georgia, twenty-one. Also a student of Ohio State majoring in ancient languages and physical education."

"Hardly the resumes one would expect for a pair of master criminals, Master Bruce."

"You'd be suppressed." The master of Wayne manor responded as he clicked the button a third time to show a sinister looking dark haired man with an eye patch and several days of worth stubble.

"Alexander Lavelle Harris: Twenty-six years old. Born in Sunnydale, California. A licensed architect and a class five antique dealer. In 1999 he was arrested in Oxnard for lude and lascivious behavior, indecent exposure and solicitation. The charges were dropped the next day."

"On the surface, the only thing that these three have in common other that the fact that they are all currently reside in Cleveland, is the Red Cross list them all as disaster relief victims from Sunnydale."

"And under the surface?" Mr. Pennyworth asked.

Bruce shook his head. "I'm not sure. Hopefully Barbra will have more information tomorrow."

"And the third young lady?"

The image on the monitor changed to one of a wild looking brunet.

"Nothing. Until her marriage to Mr. Harris three months ago she did not exist."

"If that is the case, perhaps it would be best for us two old men to humor our juniors and retire for the evening and get a fresh start in the morning."

The vigilante smiled up to his old friend.

"You maneuvered me into that didn't you?"

"My advanced age has granted me wisdom as well as a disregard for sleep."

**BTVS----DC----BTVS----DC**

Maureen Stanton, an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, had had better nights. It had taken a lot of hard work, sacrifices and her 'little ace in the hole' to get to where she was now. A penthouse in downtown Gotham cost a lot and the price to keep it was more than the money it took to pay the rent. But tonight her paranoia and her sense of self preservation, both of which were necessary survival traits in the Gotham underworld, had started to itch in the back of her head.

Someone had sent a pimp and his talent as bait into her territory then jumped a half dozen of her enforcers, leaving them for the police battered and bloody. The fact that her unknown rival had left her men breathing was a mistake she would be more that willing to take advantage of, but she would need a target before she could defend what was hers.

Looking away from the Gotham skyline, Moe reached out and touched the intercom button on her desk.

"Clarence, have the lawyers retrieve Joey and his boys from Gotham's finest tomorrow morning."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And I want full descriptions of this player and his girls in everybody's hands by tomorrow night. I have some questions I want to ask this pirate who thinks he can pillage what is mine."

**END CHAPTER #1**

**Chapter 2: Incomplete Pictures**

Rona had woken up, eaten, worked out with Vi and Faith, showered, and been sitting in front of her laptop for three hours before her watcher groggily wandered down from bed.

She and the redhead had been shipped off the Africa by 'General Buffy' to baby-sit the original Scooby after Sunnydale, but the babysitting gig ended and the partnership had started after the two slayers found out about the crazy old guy in South Africa and the commandos he had sent to kill them. The crazy old guy with a grudge about his two sons and something called 'Slayerfest '98'. The crazy old guy that Xander had taken care of without his slayers finding out until after the fact.

When she had found out 'General Buffy' died.

Buffy Summers, the woman who took her place, however, had screamed and yelled and cried and two days later started to brag about her friend 'The Watcher'.

After 'The-Event-Which-Shall-Never-Be-Mentioned' a few months later in Egypt the three Counsel members had been forced to return to The States. Claiming boredom, Faith had joined the group a few weeks later. Since then the four of them had criss-crossed the North American continent helping the local teams put out the fires that the more stationary slayers couldn't handle by themselves.

This, of course, was all a long winded way of saying that Rona wasn't use to research and didn't like it.

"Sorry, I over slept." Mumbled the former carpenter as he flopped down into the fourth chair and reached for a folder.

"Don't touch that!" Rona snapped.

Xander dropped the folder and slid the chair away from the table raising his hands in the universal sign of 'don't hurt me'.

The other two slayers snickered.

"I think someone's a little cranky." Vi teased her friend.

"Nah," Faith added. "I think she's having an allergic reaction to reading."

"Bite me. Sorry, Xan. I've got a computer headache." The Atlanta native apologized.

"No problem." He shrugged with a grin as he scooted he chair back to the table. "So, what's the what?"

"Okay. From what we can figure out." Violet explained. "About a year ago, the local nuthouse burnt down and all the crazies got out."

"Real sickos." Faith added. "We're talking Dru level fruitcakes."

"But get this." Rona said, picking up the thread. "It's like in the middle of the fire they all got together and decided to change their M.O.s. Out of nowhere they all came up with the brilliant idea that instead of leaving stupid riddles when they kill someone and getting caught, they all thought it would be fun to do the whole fake sacrifice thing."

"Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that we deal with demons instead of psychos?" The redhead grumbled. "We're lucky that most of them have been caught."

"No shit." Agreed the Boston Slayer waving a file. "You should be thankful I said yes to the ring, boy-toy. This chick was real Xander dating material. She'd seduce a guy, take him out to the woods, tie him down with vines then get down to some serious knife work."

"What about this guy?" Vi asked, pointing to a pile of news clippings to her right. "He would shoot his victims with some kind of freeze gun, then break the poor people up and use the frozen parts to make pentagrams."

Afraid to ask, but unable to help himself, Xander motioned to the file in front of him.

"What about this guy? Um…" He paused, tilting his head to better read the name on the folder. "Cobblepot. What about that guy?"

Surprisingly he got snorts of derision in response.

"The first one caught."

"That loser was kind of pathetic."

"Watched way too much Hitchcock as a kid."

"Get this." The dark skinned slayer elaborated. "Before this whole thing started this guy once tried to hold the city for ransom by using a bunch of trained penguins with home made rocket launchers strapped to their backs."

A half smile of genuine mirth crossed the dark-haired Californian's face.

"That makes sense." At the three women's looks "What? He probably just couldn't get the ostridges with the freaking lasers on their heads."

Waiting a moment for the tension to completely leave the room, Xander continued. "So, if all the psychos have been rounded up then what's left?"

"Nah. The king psycho's still out there." Rona corrected. "Thing is, none of the other killings fit this guys style."

"His style?"

"Yo, X, this creep may be a grade A, Makes-Dru-Look-Like-An-Accountant, nut job." Faith motioned to the two remaining stacks of clippings. "But he ain't never eaten no one."

"If I had to guess." Vi finished. "I'd say that small stack was the real Big Bad and that the fire at Arkham was a smokescreen."

**BTVS----DC----BTVS----DC**

Removing his cowl, The Dark Knight entered the Batcave and joined the group of people that gathered around the wide-screen computer monitor.

"Sorry I'm late." Dick Grayson apologized as he draped his cape over the back of an unused chair. "I decided to do a sweep of the old toy factory again."

"Any luck, Master Dick?" Alfred asked.

"Alfred. William." Batman greeted the two butlers.

"Master Grayson." The younger manservant, a broad-shouldered Scott, acknowledged.

"No luck. The clown is still avoiding his old bases." Dick said, directing his answer to his mentor.

With a sharp nod of acceptance to the younger man Bruce Wayne reached out and depressed a button on the console. "We're all here now, Barbra. What have you found out about the new group in town?"

After a second the oversized monitor faded to life to show an attractive red-haired woman in her min-thirties looking back at the gathered men.

"Hi, guys." Barbra greeted over the link. "Hi, Dick." She added with a warm smile for her husband.

"Hey, Babs." The former Nightwing smiled in return. "What have you got for us?"

Returning to the business at hand, the original Batgirl, redirected her attention back to the group as a whole.

"Well, from what I can tell, they all work for a London based organization called The Watchers Counsel. Who, or what The Watchers Counsel is, I can't say. I've tried to access their database, but whoever designed their firewalls is an incredible programmer."

Unnoticed by everyone else, Alfred threw Bruce a look and a nod.

"Everything I've gotten so far," Continued the red-headed woman. "Has been from secondary sources. It seams that The Counsel runs several private schools around the world. All of which have been opened in the last three years, including one in Cleveland, and all of which have the same seven names listed as the board of directors."

She pushed a button to her side, the screen split to show pictures of Faith and Xander.

"Including two of Gotham's newest tourist. Mrs. Harris is still a mystery, but I have a possible maiden name. When I realized that all the members of the board of directors for the schools as well as her traveling companions were all listed as 'Sunnydale survivors' I ran a sweep for anyone named Faith in any of the record that survived the disaster and came up with one hit. In early May of '99 a Richard Wilkins III petitioned the state of California to adopt a sixteen year old girl by the name of Faith LeHane."

Out of the corner of his eye Dick noticed that Bruce's face pale at the mention of the name. He kept his attention on the monitor, however, as his wife continued.

"I've managed to dig up more information on Mr. Harris and the best word to describe it is interesting."

"How do you mean, Mistress Grayson?" William asked.

"Thanks for the straight line Will." Barbra smiled. With the click of a button the pictures of the two scoobies disappeared to be replaced by the image of a stone tablet covered in hieroglyphs. "This piece of stone was carved a little over two years ago; it was translated in roughly one hundred and thirty languages and is an official document of the Egyptian Government."

"It also has this." A red circle appeared around a glyph in the upper left hand corner. "The first new symbol added to the ancient Egyptian language in over three thousand years. It represents a man surrounded by chaos. It also translates to the name Alexander LaVelle Harris."

The hacker took a moment to enjoy the stunned silence from the other end of the connection.

"Basically, it states that he is banished from Egypt."

"And more specifically?" Asked the master of Wayne manor.

"Mr. Harris' shadow shall never more fall upon land of Egypt, nor any land that has known the rule of Egypt. Neither shall his feet touch any land that boarders, or is given life from the Nile until the tombs of kings once again burn with the fire of the gods."

"If I may be so bold?" William asked quietly. "What, pray tell, is the fire of the gods."

Without looking up, Bruce answered. "When the pyramids were originally constructed they were sheathed in white limestone. The light that reflected from their sides was called the fire of the gods."

Dick Grayson looked up to his wife with a start.

"Babs, when did you say this was carved?"

Mrs. Grayson smiled approvingly at her husband.

"About two weeks after the terrorist attack on the Pyramid at Giza. I thought the same thing, but if Mr. Harris is the man who blew a chunk out of the Great Pyramid then I've found no proof that there have been any attempts at reprisal."

"Is there anything else, Barbra?" The aging vigilante asked.

She shook her head. "Not right now. If you want me to take another shot at The Counsel's data base, you're going to have to call Tim back to Gotham. Cassie and Carrie can handle Bludhaven right now, but I need another set of hands on the keyboard."

"Do it." The grim older man consented as he cut the feed.

"I'm going to do another patrol." Batman called over his shoulder as he left. "Maybe I'll get lucky."

Within seconds silence had descended upon the Batcave only to be broken a moment later by Alfred.

"William, would you be kind enough to pack a bag for Master Bruce and myself?"

"I believe," The original Dark Knight said, answering the younger manservant's unasked question. "That the Wayne Foundation may soon be considering offering funding to a certain private school in Cleveland."

**BTVS----DC----BTVS----DC**

Thomas Wester would remember the sounds of laughter that chased him down the back allies of Gotham for the rest of his life. It wasn't human. No human could produce such a soulless sound.

No sane human at least.

He was being herded, he knew that. But he also knew that he had no way of breaking free of the trap that he had found himself in. He could only run and hope.

Earlier he had thought that he might be able to force his way past one of his pursuers, but the blood flowing freely down the right side of his face was proof that he had been wrong. The middle-aged blonde woman had laughed at him and casually thrown him across the alley into the wall. She had then stood and laughed until he had dragged himself to his feet and run, his hand pressed to his cheek where her nails had ripped his flesh.

Sprinting around a corner, Thomas staggered to a stop as he almost ran full speed into a man who was…just standing there.

"Don't just stand there! Run!" He shouted as he tried to find a way around the man.

"Run?" The man asked as he steeped out of the shadows. "Now where would the fun be in that?"

"No." Thomas whispered backing away as his mind processed the green hair. The white skin. The bright red lips.

"No." The Joker mocked. "Ya know I just never get tired of that."

Tom came to a sudden stop when he backed up into someone. Looking fearfully over his left shoulder he saw one of the men who had been chasing him, the balding one, standing there sniffing at him. Over his left shoulder the pursuer with the graying hair took his arm in a grip of steel. Behind that man, the blonde woman stood giggling.

The Joker raised his arms in a grand gesture. "Kyle, Tor, Heidi. Dinner."

Thomas Wester would remember the laughter for the rest of his life.

All three minutes.

**END CHAPTER #2**

**Chapter 3: Convergent Lines**

Staring out over the mid-day Cleveland traffic as it passed along Prospect Avenue, Bruce Wayne caught himself, once again drifting into the dangerous territory of 'What If'. With more discipline than had been necessary in decades, he forced himself to concentrate on the information he had gained on The Watcher's Council and the school he would be given a tour of in the morning.

The public records of The Calendar Institute that stared back at him from his laptop never mentioned that the school's principal and the physical education teacher were also members of the board of directors, but also never hid the fact. No mention of the fact that the school housed more students in the summer months than during the school year, but the enrolment records were open to the public. In the end the records caused him to ask more questions than they answered.

And the unanswered questions had been increasing from the moment the one eyed man and his three female traveling companions had shown up in HIS city. Bruce hated unanswered questions, but after what he had learned the previous evening the questions had become insistent. Hoping to find answers that he was beginning to suspect weren't there the billionaire, once again, went over in his mind what his butler and long time friend had said the night before.

Alfred Pennyworth waited patently in the silence of the Batcave after the night's meeting had concluded. Bruce Wayne, his charge for nearly fifty years, sat at the massive console that was the nerve center of the operation with his forehead resting on his steepled fingers. After several minutes the former Dark Knight spoke.

"You've heard of The Watcher's Council." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Master Bruce. I encountered members of the organization before I took employment at Wayne manor. After I had retired from Her Majesty's Special Air Service, representatives of the Council sought to recruit me."

Having gained the detective's undivided attention, Alfred took a moment to collect his thoughts, and then continued.

"The Illuminati are a myth, but like all myths there is a seed of truth. I believe that The Watcher's Council is one such seed. They are subtle and hold a great deal of political influence."

The aging vigilante frowned. "Like The League of Shadows."

"Both organizations do claim the preservation of the Earth as their goal." The butler acquiesced. "The Council, however, is more a society of researchers. I believe the gentlemen who attempted to recruit me referred to the majority of their organization as 'Those bloody librarians'. Also, where the League claims to protect the Earth from humanity, The Watcher's Council proposes to save the world from enemies of a more supernatural nature."

"They're witch hunters?"

"No. Demon hunters."

"So, when the number of ritualistic murders in Gotham increased a year ago…"

"…The young people we are here to investigate were, themselves, sent to investigate, and if necessary, remove what was responsible for those murders."

After a moment of silence Alfred broached a new subject.

"Do you believe it is her?"

Through force of will, Bruce pulled back form the memory. He knew where the rest of the conversation with his old friend would turn. Where it would lead. It was just a distraction. One that he could not afford at this time. When the murders had been stopped then there would be time to look into that mystery.

**BTVS----DC----BTVS----DC**

Wearing a pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt proclaiming that he was the property of Gotham University and carrying a steaming mud of coffee, Dick Grayson wandered down the steps into the Batcave. Pausing briefly on his way to the mats at the main console to set down his mug and flip on the recordings from the listening devise he had planted in the newcomers' home two nights ago.

As he stretched he let the voices wash over him, not consciously listening, but instead allowing the conversations seep into his subconscious. Five steps into his opening kata he paused. Something one of the girls had said had snapped him out of his concentration.

Stepping off of the mats, Batman moved back to the main console and rewound the recording. Taking a long drink from his warm coffee he restarted the tape at the point where he had been distracted.

"_If I had to guess, I'd say that small stack was the real Big Bad and that the fire at Arkham was a smokescreen."_

Backing the recording further he listened to the conversation from the beginning. His face a mask of control, Dick listened as the strangers dismissed hundreds of murders as a smokescreen. The Watcher's Council was either composed of the most heartless people on the planet, or the most focused.

Putting his mug down, Batman's hand brushed across a sheaf of paper that he hadn't noticed before. Picking up the notes, he recognized the cramped, neat writing of his mentor describing the conversation the former Dark Knight had had with Alfred the night before.

"_I don't recognize half of these symbols. I mean, _(the sound of papers shuffling) _this is 'Void', here's 'Death' and this hieroglyph is a derivative of 'Rebirth', but the rest I've never seen before."_

"_I've never seen that glyph before, where did you see it?"_

"_After Glory, when we…"_

"_Ouch, sorry Xan, forget I asked."_

"Demon hunters? Well that's new." Dick said to himself as he finished reading the report that Bruce had left him. During his career, first as Robin, then as Nightwing and now as Batman he had run across a few demons, but the thought that there may be an organization devoted to hunting them was a new one for him. Especially one as old and powerful as Alfred implied. There just weren't that many demons out there in the real world.

"_Don't worry about it, Vi, just send the symbols off to Wills. We'll see if she can make anything out of them."_

"_Way ahead of you, watcher man. Said she was gonna have to bounce them over to Dawn a Giles though. Looks like someone's been trying to hack the files."_

Flipping on the monitor, Batman reached over to the hard files Bruce had started on the four strangers and The Watchers Council. Under the five folders was a sixth much thicker file, its pages beginning to yellow with age.

He was surprised by the name typed across the top of the folder. It had been more than twenty years since the last time he had even thought about that case. A thief he and Bruce had had run-ins with when Dick had just started out as Robin. A thief that had reformed and then disappeared.

Opening the folder he found an envelope at the top of the reports marked simply 'Batman C/O Commissioner Gordon' above a date for the letter to be delivered on. The message inside took up only one side of the sheet and was written in a hand that was weak and inconsistent.

Dick's eyes widened as what the letter said soaked into his mind. Looking from the mug-shot that had been under the envelope to the stop-motion shots of the four Council members that stared back at him from the computer screen he realized the resemblance was unmistakable. The hair was different, the eyes and the chin, however, were identical.

It was time The Council met Batman.

**BTVS----DC----BTVS----DC**

Joey carefully patted his immaculately slicked back hair and straitened his sports-coat as he entered his boss's office. Getting beat down by a cripple and three chicks had caused him and his crew to loose a lot of face in Moe's organization. Worse had been when he and his crew had been sent out to find the interlopers that had caused that humiliation with orders NOT to take their pound of flesh, but to report back to the boss when the damn pirate and his whores had been found.

But here he was, mission accomplished, staring nervously at one of Gotham's most powerful crime lords while she stared back at him impatiently.

"Well?" She snapped

"Sorry, Ma'am." He answered, barely holding back the erg to genuflect. "I mean…Um…We found them, Ma'am."

He regained a small measure of confidence at her nod of approval.

"So, ya want me and my boys to fire-bomb their house, or something?"

"Yes, Joey," She said sarcastically. "I've often thought that the only thing my office was missing was to have Gotham P.D. and The Batman crawling out of the woodwork."

"No, Joey wait until one of them is alone and then…" She shrugged. "Well, Gotham is a dangerous city."

**END CHAPTER #3**

**TBC**


	2. e1337

**A/N#1: I apologize for the extended delay. This has not been a fun year thus far. It has ranged from the bad (getting laid off) to the potentially very bad (break-lines going out at a major intersection at 40 MPH) to the merely irritating (two hour bus ride to and from work every day). Though I cannot promise more timely updates in the future, things are getting better and I have hopes for the future.**

**A/N#2: After much thought, I feel it would be a good idea for me to obtain the services of one or more beta readers. If anyone is interested, please let me know.**

**Disclaimer: **Sense my last name is neither Kane, nor Whedon it would be a correct assumption that I own none of the characters involved in this story.

**Pairings: **Though not the focus of the story the following pairings will be mentioned, or referred to. F/X, Grayson/Gordon, Wayne/Kyle, Drake/Brown and Drake/?

**Timelines: **BTVS post Chosen. I have mauled the Batman timeline to suit my own ends, placing Bruce Wayne in his early fifties.

**Chapter 4: e-1337**

Barbra Grayson maneuvered into position amongst her computer array with a grace that only came from long years of familiarity. With out looking up from the printout of the e-mail she had received from Bruce she released the control joystick of her wheelchair and started up the computers that encircled her like a web of silicon and fiber-optics.

As Batgirl, Barbra had lacked the strength and training of Bruce Wayne, or the sheer gymnastic talent of Dick Grayson, but she had possessed the grace of a dancer and an almost frightening ability to multi-task. A mad-man's gun had taken her grace, but the basic human tendency to compensate for a disadvantage and the strength of her own will, had driven her ability to multi-task to near meta-human levels.

The four monitors and the three keyboards in front of her were a testament of this.

She had given up the tights and the cape a long time ago, but she was still a hero. A hero masked by the anonymity of the internet and with powers that were matched by only a handful of others with names like Lord Nikon and Cereal Killer and maybe a few others with names that were unknown outside of the tight nit hacker fraternity. Tonight she even had a sidekick.

Looking over her shoulder, Oracle watched as Nightwing finished his preparations for their assault on the Watcher's database.

"Ready for some real hacking, newbie?" She teased.

"I think I can wing it." Tim grinned back dusting off his skin-tight, black outfit. After a moment he paused and with a semi-serious look turned back to the red-head.

"We really need to work on our snappy banter, don't we?"

Barbra snorted a laugh. "And yet, we're still funnier than the 'Big Blue Boy-scout'. Okay, let's do this."

In a little over ten minutes Oracle, with Nightwing running interference, had pierced The Council's security deeper than she had managed the day before, but then they got noticed.

"Sorry about that." Tim apologized. "I tripped a flag."

"Don't worry about it." Barbra said, concentrating on the screens in front of her. "We're almost through. Just keep them busy and I'll pull a dump and run."

"Got it. They've started a trace. I'm sending out decoys."

Oracle typed faster as she raced the clock to get the information she sought, but she had less time then she thought.

"Crap." Nightwing cursed behind her.

"What?"

"Whoever's on the other side is very good. Their ignoring the decoys. We got two minutes tops until their on us."

"Plenty of time. I've almost got them."

Twenty seconds later Tim Drake dove under his desk and with a curse began to rip power cords from outlets.

The former Batgirl stared in shock at her suddenly dead monitors for several seconds before she turned her chair to face the young man just getting up from the floor.

"What the hell, Tim?"

Tim looked up at the angry red-head, surprise clearly evident on his face.

"Whoever was running the trace was skipping the relay sites we were bouncing our signal off of. We had less then ten seconds."

"That's impossible. Nobody can do that."

As if on cue, the electronics and wiring that surrounded the two vigilantes began to glow with a faint blue light. A moment later, Barbra's main monitor flickered to life. The c-prompt flashed tree times before text appeared across the screen addressing the stunned duo.

_BookWyrm: Why are you trying to hack this site?_

"Th-that can't happen." Oracle stammered. "It's impos…"

"Impossible?" Tim finished. "I think someone is a third of the way through their six impossible things before breakfast. Have you ever heard of this Book Wyrm?"

"Not in years."

_BookWyrm: Well? _X-(

Mrs. Grayson turned back to her keyboard and replied.

_Oracle: What is The Watcher's Council?_

_BookWyrm: Need 2 No…You don't!_

_Oracle: Why are you in Gotham?_

_BookWyrm: …_

_BookWyrm: Most people ask._

_Oracle: Why did The Council send a demon hunter strike team to Gotham?_

_Oracle: I'm asking._

_BookWyrm: We'll think about it._

With that the screen went dark.

**BTVS----DC----BTVS----BTVS**

Rupert Giles leafed through the piles of reports of his desk with the speed that only urgency and familiarity could supply. Without looking up from the weekly report that Riley, Samantha and Caradad had sent from Central America he reached for the report of the disaster that had taken place in China the night before.

As a field Watcher he had neither possessed the Slayer strength and speed of Buffy, nor the mystical power of Willow, but he had possessed the education and the training to, if not guide them on the right path, at least point his fosterlings in the right direction. A mad-man in the employ of The First Evil had explosively taken his position of comfort as an advisor to a single Champion away and replaced it with the constant headache of being responsible for the well being of hundreds.

Though he would never admit it to a living, or un-living for that matter, soul there were days like today that he honestly missed the overbearing, poor excuse for a human that was Quentin Travers even if for no other reason than to have the luxury of a person to foist off the responsibilities of his daily decisions.

This all brought him back to the tragedy of the night before in China.

Responding to a rumor that a warlord in an isolated province that sat in the shadow of the Himalayas was possibly demonic, Cho-Ahn and her team had gone to investigate only to encounter an extremely ancient vampire that had controlled the area for centuries. In any other corner of the world this would not have been the cause of much worry, there being very little that a team of four slayers could not overcome, but Cho-Ahn and her team had not been prepared for what they encountered.

What had been known by The Watcher's Counsel, but unrealized by most of the Slayers they guided was that the final form of the vampires that their champions faced on a nightly basis was determined, in a large part, by the mythology and beliefs that the victim held in life. Thus Nest, better known as The Master, had taken the bat-like features of the Germanic nosferatu, Kakistoes, the bull-like form of his Greek heritage and Dracula the porcelain beauty of the Balkan myths that he had known during his lifetime. Even Angel had begun to show signs of what was to come with his Irish background. In the time that the senior watcher had known the ensouled vampire, Giles had noted that the former Scourge of Europe's human face had shown signs of becoming more aesthetically handsome while his demonic 'Game-Face' had become gradually more horrific.

For the most part these changes over time were merely cosmetic in nature and, in and of themselves, posed little danger to the slayers, but as last night had proven those vampires sired in the mythical traditions of the orient could be extraordinarily dangerous due to the simple fact that, unlike the vampires of different cultures, they did not become more distinctive over time, but quite the opposite.

Though not the invisibility that the legends warned, the fact that a master vampire sired within the mythologies of Asia could become so common…so ordinary…in appearance as to be unnoticeable had proven to be remarkably dangerous, and, in this case, deadly.

According to the report Cho-Ahn's watcher had sent, the master (whose name translated simply as 'Wind') had casually walked up to, and killed two members of his team during a skirmish with several minions without the slayers ever being aware of his presence. Ka Kui, the former Hong Kong police detective and the group's watcher, along with the remaining two slayers had managed to drive the ancient bloodsucker off, but at the cost of two dead and Senda, a young slayer from India, facing the likelihood of having several of her bones broken and reset due to her enhanced healing.

The report, sent not only to Giles, but to every watcher and slayer in the eastern hemisphere had included a phrase at the bottom. Three words that were giving Rupert no end of headaches at the moment.

'Rule number two.'

Now the Head Watcher was faced with the fact that more than half of his organization was, at that moment, packing for a vengeful trip to the most inaccessible regions of China. Suppressing his dislike of the 'dread machine', Giles had already sent out several e-mails in hopes of turning the impending mass migration into something resembling an organized response and in the process preserve the illusion that he was, in fact, the head of The Watcher's Counsel.

In the midst of typing instructions to be sent to the watcher in Kyoto he was interrupted by the blinking red emergency light of the in-house intercom that graced his desk. Repressing a sudden need to clean his glasses, the former librarian reached out and answered the call.

"This is Giles."

"Mr. Giles, sir. Oh, my god." Squeaked the voice of a very frightened Andrew from the other end of the line. "It's Willow…Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!"

"Andrew?" Rupert tried to interject to no avail. After a second he succumbed to the desire to pinch the bridge of his nose when the fear induced babble continued.

"ANDREW!" He shouted after a moment to get the young man's attention. "Calm down and tell me what has bloody happened."

The momentary silence from the intercom was followed by a raged intake of breath before the geek continued in a slightly more controlled voice. "I…I think the nefarious rouge net-runners broke rule #3 and now her hair is blue and her eyes are blue and not a dreamy blue like Anthony Michael Hall in '16 candles', but blue like Mau' Dib-the-promised-one blue and…"

To be fair, the crisis half way around the world had slowed the senior watcher's thinking down a bit. He knew that rule #1 was simply 'Do Not Die" and, of course rule #2 was what was causing his headache at the moment, so rule #3 would be…

"Oh, dear Lord."

… 'Never Piss Off Willow'.

Andrew continued to babble, but it was to an empty room as Rupert Giles had bolted from his office at a dead run.

Adrenalin is an amazing thing. It can allow an eighty year old woman lift a fallen tree from a grandchild, or a twenty year old solder to take that final shot. In this case it allowed Rupert Giles to sprint down four flights of stairs and along six hallways in record time and arrive at his destination without being winded.

To say that he was surprised by what he saw when he arrived would be an understatement. The ex-librarian and former museum curator had anticipated and dreaded finding the computer lab destroyed, young Andrew dead and Willow on a murderous rampage. What he found instead was a very much alive Andrew cowering under a desk jabbering into a cell phone and the mostly red headed young witch giggling and spinning dazedly in her chair.

He took in the scene for a moment as the last of the blue faded from the tips of the young woman's hair and her eyes gradually shifted from turquoise to their normal green before sighing in relief that the world would not have an unscheduled ending today. He reached for his glasses to give them a good polish before he realized that he had left on his desk in his haste. Sighing again he moved to crouch next to the still panicking geek.

"…No, not blue like a smurf. Well, I guess it is kinda that color, but smurfs don't have blue hair and we're all going to die!..."

"Andrew." Giles tried to interject.

"Oh good, Giles is here. Have the great one prepare for transport we can probably have the coven…"

"Andrew!" The watcher interrupted a bit more forcefully. "May I have the phone, please?" He finished in an exaggeratedly calm voice.

With a jerk of motion the young man pushed the phone into the older gentleman's hand and cowered deeper under the desk. Rupert fumbled with the device a moment then placed it to his ear.

"Hello, Xander?"

"…"

"Oh, hello, Faith. I hope this morning finds you well."

"…"

"Y-yes, quite. It would be fairly early there in the colonies."

"…"

"No, no. Just a bit of an over reaction on our parts. It seems that Willow was forced to resort to somewhat more exoteric means to thwart the persons attempting to access our computers this morning and Andrew panicked."

"…"

"No, everything is fine. Go back to sleep and I shall call you with an update later today."

"…"

"Goodnight, Faith. Sleep well."

Pinching his nose to relieve the pressure that had started to from behind his eyes, the man once known as 'Ripper' closed the phone and placed it gently on the desk then gripped the shoulder of the cowering young man before him.

"Andrew, why don't you go have yourself a bit of a lay down?"

His eyes still wide with fear, the geek in question crawled out from under the desk, slowly nodding his head.

"Oh…um…Yes, oh sensei. I…well…um, okay."

Andrew moved to leave, but paused at the door to ask.

"Mr. Giles, sir? Did you just send me to my room?"

Giles, once again missed the comfort of cleaning his glasses, looked up and gave a half smile.

"Well…well, yes. I suppose, in a matter of speaking, I did."

"Okay."

One concern having been dealt with, the watcher moved to kneel before one of the young woman he had grown to see as a daughter. Reaching out to stop the chair's spinning he looked up with worry at the young wicca.

"Willow, are you feeling quite all right?"

"Oh, hi, Giles." Willow responded with a vague wave and dreamy smile. "Yeah, I feel…I feel…wow. I haven't felt this nifty since the time Kennedy found that school girl outfit and the leather collar…Wow."

"Y-yes. Quite." Giles finally gave up on his absent glasses and settled for pinching the bridge of his nose again. "Are you sure you are quite all right?"

"Oh, yeah, I feel great." She answered distractedly as she let the older man lift her to her feet and guild her from the room. "Wow. Whoever that Oracle is they are really something else. They almost got us. I had to go all witch-y on their digital ass." At this she looked up to the man who was currently leading her down the hall "And I did magic."

"Yes, dear I had noticed."

"Nonono. I mean I was all David Copperfield-y with the all 'Hey, look over here with the big, scary All Your Bass Are Belong To Us chatting'." The Red Witch corrected, waving her left hand for emphasis while her right hand reached clumsily into the older man's breast pocket. "Then, over here, I copied all their hard-drives. Even the isolated one they had over to the side." She finished revealing the glasses she had removed from Rupert's jacket.

"Oh, y-yes." Giles stammered taking his glasses and putting them on. "We shall have to look into that tomorrow. I take it that we shall not have to worry about this Oracle for a bit?"

"Nope. I hit 'em with a pop-up bomb. Then I had their account order them a life time supply of Viagra and those pill that are suppose to make your thingy bigger, so they are going to be…" Willow paused in her babble to giggle to herself. "They're going to be busy for a while."

After a moment they stopped at Willow's door and she turned to her mentor with a slightly wicked grin of her face.

"Oh, and don't let me forget. I should head over to Cleveland soon. I think Kennedy still has that school girl outfit."

Faith was pissed off with a capital P and a lot of other capital letters right behind it. It's not that she had anything against the theme music from 'Babylon 5' most of the time, but when it came blaring out of X's pants (that were draped over a chair on the other side of the room by the way) at THREE F!$!ING A.M. IN THE F&ING MORNING she was not going to be a happy little slayer and someone was GOING TO DIE.

Not that Xander was going to wake up anytime soon and answer the damn phone. How anyone could live on the very f&ing mouth of Hell for twenty-some-odd years and sleep as heavily as X did was a mystery well beyond the Dark Slayer understanding at THREE F$$ING A.M., but she knew if she wanted that damn music to stop she would have to be the one to do something about it.

Not bothering to stand, Faith rolled out of bed and crawled across the floor to Xander's pants and rummaged through his pockets until she pulled out the offending bit of technology. She spent a moment debating between answering the damn cell phone in her hand and throwing it as hard as she could either against the wall, or out the window. The fact that the window was, at that time, firmly closed and latched never really a thought that crossed her mind. After a few seconds of thought she growled and flipped the phone open.

"What? I swear to God if this is B I'm going to take all your expensive shoes and all your expensive purses and shove them up your expensive ass."

"…"

"What?"

"…"

"What? Yo Andy…"

"…"

"…Andy."

"…"

"Andy! Calm the f$ down."

"…"

"What are ya sayin'? Red smurfed herself?"

"…"

"What's this shit about dieing? What the hell is going on?"

"…"

"X is asleep. What the hell is goin' on?"

"…"

"It's THREE IN THE F#ING MORNING!"

"…"

"What's all this Darth Willow shit? You need X and me?"

"…"

"You sure?"

"…"

"Fine. You tell Andy the next time he pulls the faults alarm shit I'm gonna cut off his 'live long and prosper' and feed it to a demon."

With a snort of disgust the Boston bred slayer snapped the phone closed and dropped it on the floor.

"Little asshole."

Looking up her eyes narrowed briefly as they ran across the form of her still soundly sleeping husband. A second later a wicked grin crossed her face as she crawled up the bed and placed her lips next to unsuspecting victim's ear.

"Oooh, Cyclops," She purred. "That was incredible."

The Dark Slayer watched her lover's reaction for a moment while he smiled and mumbled in his sleep then leaned in for the kill.

"I didn't know that tongue thing you do worked on vamps too. Spike said he was coming back every night for you to 'stake' him."

With a violent explosion of motion Xander tried to leap out of the bed only to have his legs tangle in the covers and land face first on the floor at the side of the bed. At the same time Faith fell off the other side of the bed with tears rolling down her face and holding her sides as she howled with laughter.

Pulling himself into an almost upright position, Xander pointed an accusing finger at his wife. "That's not funny!"

"Says you." She managed to wheeze out.

**End Chapter #3**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Once again I own nothing and all I want is maybe a pat on the head**

**A/N: All goodness is due to the very patient beta reader that had consented to help me out. All badness is still my fault.**

**Chapter #5: Batman and Robin: pt 1 (Days)**

Most days Robin Wood loved his life.

To the world at large he was the principal of an exclusive school that was; in it's roughly two years of existence, already gaining recognition for the quality of the students it produced. He was also responsible for the staffing and curriculum of seven other schools around the world. The fact that at the age of thirty-eight he had successfully merged his calling as an educator with the mission he had inherited from his mother was the tasty icing on a very satisfying cake.

He even got the opportunity to patrol once a week and, on occasion, stake a vampire.

But some days,

Some days it was harder to believe that the monster that had killed his mother had essentially died the day a demon had shoved a soul into Spike's undead corpse.

Some days the burden of being a member of the newly reformed Watcher's Counsel, of being responsible for the lives of hundreds of young men and women, not to mention the world, seemed too heavy to bear.

Some days he missed Faith.

Not for the reasons that many would think, though there was that too, but the young woman in question had an energy that could easily infect those around her and the ability to see through the bullshit that just came with everyday life.

Robin and Faith had not been meant to be, and it had taken a hell-bitch to show them that, but the son of a slayer took a large amount of pleasure in the fact that when Harris had proposed to the Boston bad-girl that it had been Robin and not Angel that she had called first. Even though the once Scourge of Europe was the man who gave Faith away at the wedding, it had been Robin who had stood beside her as her 'Man-of-Honor' in a pink tux that only the high school principal could make look good.

No, some days Robin Wood missed Faith because when the 'most days' gave way to the 'some days' she had made his burden a little lighter and the day go by a little faster.

Because some days…

Some days he had to take time out of his life to do a dog and pony show for some rich, pretty boy looking to add another deduction to write off on his taxes. Days that would be better spent training, or counseling, or even just getting to know the watchers and slayers in training that had been made his responsibility.

Not that all of the executives that Robin had met in the last two years were all versions of the same faceless, plastic, corporate doll. So far there had been two exceptions.

First had been David Nabbit who had arrived three weeks before the school had even announced its opening. Arriving in a limo emblazoned with a fireball hurling wizard across the hood and with an offer to supply all of the Council's schools with state of the art computers, no strings attached, except for one condition. A condition that sat in the schools garage in the form of a bright green, tricked out, panel-van with the words 'Mystery Machine' painted across the side.

Even though he would deny it, some days…

…Some days the son of Nikki Wood would sneak into the garage and sit behind the wheel of the van and loose himself in the nostalgia of a time before his mother had died when all of the monsters were just men in masks and everyone would return home alive and unharmed.

At the other end of the spectrum had been the woman only known as Mercy with her subtly graceful movements and her subtly cold beauty and her subtle threats of what would happen if her employer, Lex Luther, wasn't placed on the school's board of directors.

Exactly thirteen days later, at exactly 1:00 p.m. every single stock in Mr. Luther's personal portfolio dropped exactly one point per minute for thirteen minutes before, almost magically, readjusting themselves. Soon after that the threats stopped. Apparently, Lex Luther could take a subtle hint.

Looking out his window Robin noticed a not-to-ostentatious luxury car rolling through the front gates of the campus. So now, less than a week after Faith and Xander had arrived in Gotham and less than ten hours after someone from Gotham had tried to hack into the Council's computer files, Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham had arrived to inspect the Calendar Institute in the Wayne Foundation's name.

Noting that the billionaire was five minutes late for the appointment and not believing in coincidence, Principal Wood buttoned his jacket, straightened his tie and mentally prepared himself for the worst.

Since, most days, the Hellmouth allowed for neither coincidence nor best case scenarios. And, some days, that could mean a very bad day.

_**BTVS----DC----BTVS----DC**_

Some days Bruce Wayne was content with his life.

He was the head of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate that employed thousands of workers in a wide range of fields, from construction to high tech to all points in between, The Wayne Foundation charities helped tens of thousands of people annually and as Batman he had saved hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent lives during his carrier.

He had even managed to, mostly, reconcile with Dick after years of estrangement.

But most days…

Most days he couldn't forget the look on his father's face as Joe Chill's bullet ripped a hole through the space where Thomas Wayne's heart had been.

Most days he found himself living with the faces and names of the civilians he had failed to save during his carrier as The Batmen.

Most days he was grateful to Harvey Dent for ending his career as a crime fighter.

A part of him realized that he had become less focused after he had received the posthumous letter from Salina two years ago, that he had spent more and more time agonizing over the real and perceived failures of his past. Bruce also spent more time searching for the daughter that had been alluded to in the letter.

Bruce had finally paid the price for that split in focus a year later when the fire at Arkham released its most dangerous prisoners into the night.

It had taken less than a week to track down The Penguin. The Dark Knight had found Cobblepot alone in an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by a flock

of emaciated ravens, and in a catatonic state, holding an ornate dagger as though unsure where he was, or what he was holding

Almost a year later there was still no clue as to what had caused his mental collapse.

He caught up with Dr. Isley nine days later in Robinson Park standing over what would have been her third victim. Poison Ivy's oddly mechanical movements coupled with the incessant, hysterical giggling of the young man she had tied to the ground served to make the ensuing fight strangely surrealistic as The Dark Knight and The Plant Mistress danced in the moonlight with deadly intent.

Despite Batman's best effort the young man had not escaped unaffected and now Parker Abrams, a promising young lawyer, spent his days at Gotham General's psychiatric ward alternating between laughing hysterically and cursing violently. One more name on the list of those Bruce had been unable to save.

Then there had been Harvey.

Tracking down leads after the abduction of the Wriggly twins, Batman found Two-face in a rundown, two-story duplex a day later. Unlike the two killers before him, Harvey had gained the help of henchmen. Two Austrian brothers who had managed to acquire an early form of Bane's Venom.

The fight lasted longer than it should have. Longer than it would have ten years ago. Longer than it would have if The Bat's mind had not have been split by thoughts of his and Selina's missing child. The running battle through Gotham's streets had eventually ended with Bruce's uniform in tatters, the two mercenaries unconscious on the ground and Two-face running away firing blindly over his shoulder.

It was then that Harvey's insane luck once again showed its face as a .22 caliber round found its way though a rip in the batsuit's Kevlar and tumbled its way behind The Dark Knight's kneecap, shattering bone and shredding cartilage. At that moment, ten years after he had recovered from his spine being snapped like a twig by Bane, Bruce Wayne realized that his time of swinging through Gotham's skyline was at an end. With the Bat unable to continue pursuit, Harvey Dent had been stopped two blocks later by a 22 year-old patrolwoman and the flip of a coin.

The Gotham billionaire unconsciously adjusted the brace on his leg as he pulled himself out of his revelry. In reality it had not been the injury that had ended his career as a crime-fighter. He had recovered from more damaging wounds in his decades as Batman. What had ended his life in the cape had been his inability to focus after 'The Letter'. The Joker had tried to kill him dozens of times, Two-face would doubtlessly take the credit for finally stopping The Batman, but the truth of the matter was that Catwoman had stopped Batman with a sheet of paper, a few strokes of a pen and a secret that had hurt more than any of the injuries Bruce had taken in combat.

As Alfred pulled the car through the gates of The Calendar Institute he centered himself and slipped on his mask as Bruce Wayne, playboy philanthropist. Because, some days…

…Some days it was difficult to concentrate on the mystery at hand, and, most days, that could be fatal.

Alfred Pennyworth's face held a look of studied indifference as he maintained his accustomed position to the side of the car; while he watched his friend and employer ascend the broad, shallow steps to greet the well groomed man awaiting Bruce Wayne at the door of the school. The Man, obviously Principal Wood, stood in a relaxed pose resplendent in a well tailored, light grey, suit offset by a yellow silk tie and projecting an air of easy likeability that was only matched by the similar facade presented by Master Bruce.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne," Greeted the well dressed man as he offered the billionaire his hand. "I'm Robin Wood."

"Good afternoon, Principal Wood," The head of The Wayne Foundation responded taking the other man's hand. "And please, call me Bruce."

"In that case, Bruce, I insist that you call me Robin."

"I think I can manage that," Wayne somehow stated without irony. "I apologize for being late. I hope you didn't wait long."

"Not at all," He assured. "I merely used my incredible psychic powers to determine the exact moment when you would arrive. That and the window to my office is just there," He continued with a smile, leaning forward slightly to point out the window in question. "Won't your companion be joining us?"

"No," Bruce answered with a grin as he joined in with the banter. "I'm afraid he will be needed here to monitor the listening devises."

"Ah," He nodded as he moved to open the door to the building. "In that case follow me, Mr. Bond, and I shall explain in great detail my brilliant plan for conquering the world."

"Lead the way Dr. Blowfeld."

"I was always more of a Goldfinger fan, myself."

"Really? Is there a cutting laser I should be worried about?"

"No, But we do have a blowtorch in the shop class."

Alfred allowed a small smile to cross his face as the two men passed into the building and hoped that Master Bruce would enjoy himself as he verbally spared with the representative of The Watcher's Council.

Fin


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Sense my last name is neither Kane, nor Whedon it would be a correct assumption that I own none of the characters involved in this story.

**Pairings: **Though not the focus of the story the following pairings will be mentioned, or referred to. F/X, Grayson/Gordon, Wayne/Kyle, Drake/Brown and Drake/?

**Timelines: **BTVS post Chosen. I have mauled the Batman timeline to suit my own ends, placing Bruce Wayne in his early fifties.

**Chapter #6: Batman and Robin pt2: **

**Conversations and Other Dangerous Activities**

A bare ten minutes had passed after Bruce Wayne and Robin Wood disappeared into the confines of The Calendar Institute and Alfred was occupying himself with the removal of an imaginary speck of dust from the windshield of the Wayne Foundation company car when the doors to the building opened again. A blur of dark hair and light skin streaked from the building and resolved itself into a young woman with shining, dark eyes a scant foot before him.

"Uncle Alfie?"

At the sound of the voice, one that was slightly older than the gentleman's gentleman remembered, but still recognizable, Alfred's mind attached a name to the young woman who now stood before him.

"Mistress Kennedy, it is a pleasure to see you again," He greeted with a small smile.

With the recognition the girl surged forward only to restrain herself and gently rap her arms around the older gentleman.

"It's so good to see you again, Uncle Alfie," She said, but then paused for a second to reach up, but not quite touch the plastic oxygen hose that rested on the older man's upper lip. "What happened?"

"I became old," He answered dryly. "I heard that many people of my generation were giving it a go and I thought I would attempt to be trendy, as it were. You've ceased your obsession with sliding down banisters, I trust?"

"Someone put ornamental balls at the end of the handrails here," She huffed around a smile. "I think it's a conspiracy."

"Quite," Alfred smiled. "What is the world coming to? And how are your parents, if I might ask?"

"Disappointing," Kennedy DeVries responded with a well practiced roll of her eyes. "I get my tongue pierced," She stuck out her tongue to demonstrate. "Nothing. I tell them I'm gay? They even like my girlfriend. Though, I'm sure that my dad thinks she's a communist, or worse, a closet democrat," She added parenthetically. "And now, instead of going into the family business, I'm a gym teacher at a school and their fine with it. I'm starting to think that their going to accept me no matter what I do."

"How dreadful for you. All that effort gone to waste," He said in mock commiseration. "By the way, we have greatly missed your parents at the various charity events as of late."

"Well, you know my parents. When it comes to being kidnapped and held hostage by psychos for charity, five times is their limit."

With that the young woman changed the subject and, gently taking the gentleman's gentleman by the arm, began to lead him to the building.

"But that's enough with the catching up. Come on, I want to show you the school."

"I really should wait for Master…"

"I'm sure that even Bruce," She snorted in interruption. "Can open a car door for himself once in a while. Come on, I want to show you the Wood yard."

"The Wood yard?"

"Yeah 'The Nichole Wood Memorial Garden'. We have eight schools around the world and they all have one."

"Very well, Mistress Kennedy," Alfred said, giving in to the inevitable. "Please lead the way."

The tour, the aging butler noted, was exceedingly brief. The dark-haired girl had waved dismissively in the direction of the administration offices and glared a pair of teen-agers off in the direction of their classes, but, for the most part, made a direct line to a pair of double doors at the back of the building. With a grand gesture she flung open the doors to reveal the inner courtyard formed by the three wings of the school.

Encircled by a waist-high, white marble wall the school's inner grounds had been meticulously groomed. Broad, stone walk-ways wound their way among slightly raised mounds of earth that during other times of the year would be a riot of color from the flowering plants and trees that currently sat dormant in anticipation of winter. In the center of the park-like courtyard, drawing the eye like it seemed to draw the various walk-ways, was a magnificent, ornate gazebo of stone and wood.

One section, in apparent defiance of the other, hibernating, sections of the garden, boasted a carpet of dark green leaves sprinkled with white flowers. Kneeling before this patch of life, with her back to Kennedy and Alfred, crouched a young, black-haired, woman making notations on a clipboard.

Placing her hand on the elderly butler's forearm, Kennedy stood of her toes to speak into Alfred's ear.

"That's Catherine," she whispered. "I was hoping you and Bruce could meet her, but you have to lower your voice."

"Pardon me?"

"Talk deeper," She explained. "She's got this really weird…thing…with her ears and can't hear higher pitched sounds, so we all have to talk in a deeper voice so she can hear us," The slayer finished, lowering her own voice to a contralto.

"Ah. I see," He said in a lower tone and nodded. "By all means, lead the way."

With a grin she led the way across the courtyard towards the other woman.

"Hiya, Cat. How's the moss doing today?"

Carefully placing the clipboard on the ground, the other woman turned and glared at Kennedy then turned her attention to their guest.

"Hello. You must be Alfred Pennyworth," The girl greeted. Alfred noted that, despite the fact that the young woman's voice held the quiet tones of the terminally shy her hand shake and body language implied quite the opposite. "I'm _Catherine_ De La Vega. _Kenny_ has been talking about you and Mr. Wayne non stop since she found out you were coming."

She paused long enough to give Kennedy a dirty look.

"And it's not moss, its heather."

"It's a very real pleasure to meet you, Miss De La Vega," Alfred baritoned. "Did you say heather? Isn't it a bit late in the year for heather to be in bloom?"

Catherine cast a glance at the other woman.

"Didn't get that far in the pitch, huh?"

"Cathy's one of our lost girls. When we began opening the schools she, and a bunch of others, fit the criteria of what we look for in a student, but she had already graduated high school so we offer summer courses to help fill out college credits."

"And in my case," The quiet girl said picking up the thought. "I get to use part of the garden to work on my botany master-thesis. Thus the heather, plus I get help with my Latin."

"E-shay an-cay arely-bay eak-spay ig-pay atin-lay," Kennedy snorted.

"Ite-bay e-may," Cathy retorted before returning her attention to the elderly Englishman. "My uncle runs the old family vineyard, but he also keeps bees as a way to diversify," She explained as she removed a small digital thermometer from one of her pockets and held it up for Alfred to read the display. "If what I'm working on with the heather pans out I may be able to extend the season for gathering honey by as much as six weeks."

The butler's eyebrows crept up as he noticed that the thermometer showed and increase of nearly five degrees when held near the blooming plants.

"They can produce their own heat," Miss De La Vega continued. "Not a lot, but enough to prevent the bees from becoming lethargic when the weather gets colder."

"Remarkable," The Englishman commented with honest admiration. "I must confess that I am at a loss as to why this is not yet in use."

"It leaches the soil."

The elderly butler and his two companions looked up at the sound of the low pitched voice to see Principal Wood and Master Bruce approach, the billionaire's cane tapping along the paving stones as he walked.

"The cost in fertilizer," Robin continued. "Out weighs the profits gained by the longer season."

"I almost chose to finish my masters at Gotham University," Catherine winced in agreement. "But decided go to MSU instead when they refused to release the 'Isley Papers'."

Bruce Wayne's brow creased in disapproval.

"I fail to see what help the ravings of a sociopath would be."

The seemingly nonchalant shrug the girl gave was in direct counter-point to the quiver of excitement that crept into her voice.

"One of things Poison Ivy is known for is the use of animated plants. Granted, most are carnivorous, which explains where they would derive their energy, but some are merely grasping vines. I mean, animation takes a lot more energy that a few degrees of heat. If I can determine how she gives her plants mobility I can solve the leaching problem."

The girl allowed herself to trail off as she realized that she was in danger of slipping off into a babble and turned back to the billionaire. "You're a member of GU's executive board. Is there any thing you can do?"

"I'm sorry," The Prince of Gotham answered. "I don't have to power to release restricted material."

"Why don't we move this discussion over to the gazebo?" Principal Wood interjected before Catherine could respond. "I'm sure we will all be much more comfortable." 

 "Yes," Alfred agreed, sensing a need to change the subject. "I've been admiring the craftsmanship, and I must say I haven't seen anything quite like it."

Nodding, Robin moved over to the structure and ran a hand along one of the vines that had been carved into the pinkish granite and wound almost seamlessly up into the dark red wood that made up the rest of the edifies.

"One of our board members has a love of woodworking, and Caridad, one of our former students, feels the same way about stone. It's been suggested repeatedly that either one of them could make a career with their talents, but they are both believe that though a hobby may be fun, once you do something for a living it becomes work."

Moving to the principal's side Bruce Wayne bent slightly to inspect the stonework.

"The names carved into the base; Joyce Summers, Jessie McNally, Tara Maclay? The schools…"

"Are all named in honor of friends who didn't make it out of Sunnydale," Robin finished with a nod."

"Humm," A slight frown creased the billionaire's brow. "I afraid I can't see this school's namesake."

Robin moved to the side and knelt to place his had on the stone work.

"It's here," He said, running his fingers over the engraved name. "Jenna Kalderesh. She was an immigrant. When she moved to the United States, like a lot of people, she Americanized her name and became Jennie Calendar."

Kennedy DeVries nodded and continued the tale.

"When we opened this institute some of her very uptight European relatives paid us a visit."

"Kalderesh," Alfred asked. "A Romany name?"

"Yes," Robin agreed with a slight smile. "When we told them we intended to open another school in Germany, Jenna's clan insisted that we give the Berlin's school their prodigal daughter's birth name. It seems that the Rom have a very finely honed sense of…irony."

The conversation continued in low tones, offset by the nervous tapping of Bruce Wayne's cane, in the gazebo for the better part of the next hour. The subject shifted freely between the schools' curriculums and the various Wayne Foundation charities, detouring briefly to The Batman's secret identity.

"No, I don't," answered Bruce, lifting an eyebrow to Catharine's question. "Although The Dark Knight has made several appearances at parties that I have held, I've never caught his name. Why do you ask?"

"It's an old family obsession," Catharine De La Vega shrugged. "At the turn of the century my three-times great grandfather was friends with this hack writer by the name of Johnston McCulley. As a kind of inside joke the writer uses my ancestor's name for the hero in one of his books."

"The Curse of Capistrano," Alfred surmised.

The young woman nodded.

"Next thing you know, some big time actor takes the book with him on his honeymoon and the rest is history. At least Zorro was supposed to be based out of L.A. instead of San Francisco."

"Anyway. Sense then keeping track of 'Shadowy Avenger' type heroes has been a kind of family tradition. You should see my great grandfather's Shadow scrapbook," Cathy added as an aside. "My father would kill me if I didn't at least ask if you maybe knew Batman, or not."

After perhaps another fifteen minutes of conversation Kennedy escorted the two Gothamites out to a late lunch with intention of catching up on any gossip the two acquaintances might be willing to share.

After the trio had left, Catherine and Robin sat in silence mentally counting off the seconds until five minutes had passed. With a nod from the principal the young woman reached beneath the bench she was perched upon and, after a bit of searching, removed a silicon wafer roughly the size of her thumbnail and shaped vaguely like a bat. After another nod from her watcher the slayer crushed the listening device between her fingers and began to urgently rummage around in her pockets. A second latter she produced a bottle of pain-killers and a pair of items that looked remarkably like hearing aids. Quickly shoving the two plugs into her ears she tipped the bottle into her mouth and began to chew on the contents.

"Well?" Robin asked after giving the girl a moment to deal with the obvious pain she was in.

After a few more minutes and irate Catharine De La Vega looked up.

"Bruce Wayne is a lying son of a bitch."

BTVSDCBTVSDC

Bruce Wayne sat in frowning concentration as Alfred navigated the streets of Cleveland towards the airport and their waiting jet back to Gotham. The lunch with the young Miss DeVries would have been a pleasant diversion if there hadn't been so many secrets and half-truths floating in the silences between words. Kennedy had smoothly and easily deflected most questions about the school onto safer topics.

But even that, the former Dark Knight thought, answered so many questions.

"I must say," Spoke Alfred interrupting his thoughts. "Mistress Kennedy has grown to be a very charming young lady."

Bruce grunted and looked up.

"What did you think of the young Miss De La Vega, Alfred?"

"I found her to be most intelligent and passionate about…"

"She's a metta."

"Master Bruce?"

"Most people speak more quietly when they use a lower tone of voice," The Detective answered. "I have no doubt that she heard every beat of our hearts and that we have both been subjected to a very subtle and very accurate lie detector."

**END CHAPTER #6**

**Coming Soon:** Amanda Waller, Dr. Fate, Xander and Batman/Dick Grayson come face to face and the answer to the most frequently asked question 'Where in the World is Rhonda the Hyena' (As sung by Rockappela)


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Same as before: I own nothing and I want nothing, except maybe a pat on the head, the honest views of my readers and the winning lottery numbers a day before hand. (That last one is unlikely, but one can only hope.)

**A/N:** I may, or may not have successfully gone back and changed all references to central casting thug #1 from Joey to Pauly with the intention of use in this chapter and another minor scene later on. If I missed any, please let me know.

**A/N2:** Okay, mark this day on your calendars as the first time I have pimped myself in any of my fics. Here goes (deep breath) Though I have a reasonable typing speed I tend to think things to death before I commit them to monitor. The over all effect is that I write slowly, however, (another deep breath) reviews, andmayberecommendations, might get me writing faster. (sigh, there I said it)

**A/N3: **Oh, and much props to my Beta reader who puts up with my crud and helps to make this all better than it might have been. Thanks a lot.

**Chapter #7: Worst Case Scenario**

Nightfall in Gotham was never a gentle thing. Even in the less gothic suburbs the towering edifices of concrete and steel that dominated the skyline cut out the light of the sun much sooner and much more dramatically than many people not native to the city would believe possible. In fact, many native Gothamites could be heard to jest that night-time may very with the seasons, but that sunset was always at 2:30 on the dot.

Paul Miller was a native of Gotham, but he never joked about the sunset. He hadn't grown up in the bad part of town; he'd grown up in the worst part of town. In an area known as The Barrens. A part of town where, sunset, sunrise, or full noon, the only way to survive was to keep your eyes down and hope not to be noticed.

He had gotten out as fast as he could; the only way he knew how. At the age of twelve he had started running errands for an old guy called Manny who worked so far down in the Penguin's organization that the old man wasn't even sure who was giving him his orders.

Manny liked to tell stories of his younger days; when he worked in New York or in Vegas before it had been taken over by the soulless big corporations. Nobody else listened, but Paul had been spellbound by the tales. Stories of cunning and betrayal with the occasional glimpse of courage, featuring men with names like Lucky Luciano and Bugsy Segal. It was those stories that showed the young Paul Miller what he wanted to be.

At the age of fourteen Paul was promoted to the position of lookout for the gang when they needed an extra set of eyes. He even got the drop on The Boy Wonder with a baseball bat once, and had used the opportunity to run away. Manny had laughed, ruffled his hair and told the story about how he had almost been caught by The Shadow in the late '40s, again. That was the first night Manny ever called him Pauly.

When he turned twenty-one, almost two years after Manny had been buried in one of the constant skirmishes between the Penguin organization and the Two Face mob, Pauly had gone out with his friends to get _legally_ drunk for the first time. During the night Pauly let slip that one of his big ambitions was to earn his own 'tough guy' nick-name like Lucky, or Bugsie, or Pretty Boy. The next day his friends had started needling him about it, calling him 'Pauly No-name', or even 'Pauly No-body'. Pauly had laughed and even had a fake I.D. made with the name 'Pauly Nemo', but then Disney put out that stupid cartoon about a f&ing fish for God's sake and the whole thing came to an immediate stop.

A few years ago he had hooked up with the Maurine Stanton organization and had started to work his way up in the ranks, even to the point where he had been allowed to hand pick the guys he ran with. Things had been looking up until four days ago when he and his boys had been humiliated by a one-eyed cripple and three whores. Now Pauly could feel the respect he had worked so hard for slipping through his fingers.

That was about to change.

Looking out the windshield of the car he sat in, he watched one of the one-eyed pimp's girls strut down the sidewalk without a care in the world. He had to admit that she was a fine piece of talent with the innocent, girl-next-door look that a lot of guys went for. Pauly wasn't sure if he liked the hat though. It covered her eye-catching red hair and made her look like she was either Mary Tyler Moore, or from San 'Fruity'-Cisco. Not that any of that would matter when he and his boys were done.

He gave a nod and watched as the driver slowly caught up with the mark while Mike, the shooter, released the safety of his .22 and rolled down the back window. Pauly knew that a lot of the guys would have chosen a bigger gun for the hit, but higher caliber gunfire always gave him a headache. Besides, at this range, Mike never missed.

Just before they reached the point of no return, Pauly saw the red-head stop at the head of an alley and turn to look into the darkness. A second later he saw her lips move as if she was talking to someone in the shadows.

The same survival instinct that had told him to run away after hitting Robin in the back with a bat so many years ago began to race up his spine. Without looking away he reached out to touch the driver's arm.

"Once more around the block, Tommy."

With a nod the wheel-man drove by, gradually accelerating up to the speed limit.

Passing by the alley, Pauly caught a glimpse of a cape and a pointy-eared cowl.

He cursed under his breath as a chance for pay-back and a little more of his hard earned respect slipped through his fingers.

**BTVSDCBTVSDC**

Someday Violet would figure out how Rona was stacking the deck, and then, there would be pay-back.

After three days of research and going over crime reports, three jittery and impatient, slayers were beginning to drive Xander insane. After considering the situation long and hard for roughly four minutes he decided that a patrol in a relatively vampire and demon light city was just what the doctor ordered. If nothing else it would give the hyperactive slayers a chance to work off some of the energy they had built up over the past few days. What followed was nearly an hour of wheedling, cajoling and begging on the parts of Violet and Rona to patrol alone. Faith as the senior slayer, and more importantly the watcher's wife, stepped in and agreed with the girls that they would be fine. Outnumbered three slayers to one normal man, and not being as dumb as he played at times, Xander agreed to the patrol, but only after Faith delivered the ultimate threat of a night on the couch to the original Scoobie if he didn't do something to make the girls shut the hell up.

After the decision had been made the two younger women had patiently sat through speech #5 'When in Doubt, Call For Backup' and speech #14 'An Idiot With a Gun is Just as Dangerous as an Idiot With Fangs'. The group then picked out patrol routes and went through their customary weapon checks.

A snag was hit when, as an afterthought, the kitchen was checked for post-slayage munchies.

Looking right into Violet's eyes, Xander had smirked and pulled out a deck of cards to determine who would walk the two blocks to the store to pick up ice cream for everyone. With a quick shuffle, he (as always) flipped over the jack of hearts. Next had been Faith who (as always) drew the queen of spades. Then had been Vi's turn and she had drawn the seven of diamonds, followed by Rona's pulling of the eight of diamonds.

With Xander and Faith it was almost funny the way that neither of them even pretended to not be cheating, but Rona always drawing one card higher than Vi…_every time…_

Someday the red-head would figure out how her sister slayer was cheating and then there would be pay-back. Lots of pay-back. And lots and lots of…

Her train of thought was interrupted as she walked past an alley and caught something with the corner of her eye. Several feet back from the street, in shadows far to dark for any normal person to see through, a man crouched, dressed in a form-fitting body-suit and a cape.

Putting the lessons she had learned from the two senior members of her team to use, Violet Knowles gave a half smirk and tilted her head slightly.

"Nice outfit. Did it come with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs?"

The figure loomed out of the shadows as a car passed on the mostly deserted street.

"We need to talk," The words seemed to growl out from the surrounding shadows.

"Well, I need to get to the store to grab some ice-cream. Can I grab you something, or do you want to come with?"

After a moment of silence she shrugged and continued on her way. Entering the store the red-headed slayer moved past several aisles to the freezer section. Taking a quick look behind her to make sure she hadn't been followed, she let the breath she had been holding and nearly collapsed against the freezer door as she finally let her knees go weak.

"Note to self," She whispered to herself. "No more trying to act like Faith. Only Faith is allowed to act like Faith. Holy shit. That was freaking Batman!"

**BTVSDCBTVSDC**

Bruce Wayne was not happy.

He was honest enough with himself to admit that he had brooded throughout the entire flight back to Gotham, and brooding lead to circular thinking and circular thinking lead to nowhere.

In his own defense, the answers he had gained in Cleveland had painted a frightening picture in his mind. The conversation he had had Kennedy DeVries, Principal Wood and the young metta-powered girl who was quit possibly under their control, convinced him that The Watcher's Council, after years, perhaps centuries, of controlling events from behind the scenes were preparing to move out of the shadows. It had taken disturbingly little time with his laptop during the flight to discover that students of The Council's strategically placed 'schools' had spread to nearly every major city on the globe.

Three had been hired as interpreters inside The United Nations.

And worst of all, the young woman that could likely be his daughter was a member of The Council and had spent the most part of the last three and a half years recruiting young girls to be the Watchers' agents.

If his mood could be described as dark during the flight, it only worsened when he saw the figure standing beside his car as he stepped out of the hanger.

Amanda Waller was a sturdily built woman. She wore her harshly conservative suit with uncompromising, nearly military, precision, her iron grey hair pulled back into a tight hard bun and her posture set in a pose that radiated efficiency.

Bruce knew that beneath the exterior was a woman that was a caring and compassionate mother and grandmother, but that her position in the government demanded that she be a hard, and sometimes, ruthless person.

Amanda Waller was very good at her job.

"Alfred."

"Director Waller," The butler returned the greeting with a nod.

"Rich Boy."

The former Dark Knight's eyes narrowed slightly in irritation.

"Amanda."

With a slight nod of her head she motioned Alfred to the front of the car and then opened the back door of the limousine.

"We need to talk."

Bruce let silence settle over the car as it pulled away from his personal hangar. Intently he watched the woman who had been both foe and ally in the time that he had known her, first as a founding member of CADMUS then as a liaison for the League. After the limousine passed the last of the airport gates he finally asked what he wanted to know.

"Why are you here, Amanda?"

"Damage control," She snapped in response. "Do you have any idea how much panic your little trip to Cleveland has caused?"

Director Waller glared into the billionaire's unreadable eyes for a moment before she continued.

"Of course you don't," She finally sighed. "We've known that The Watcher's Council and The Justice League would eventually bump into each other. It's been inevitable for the last three and a half years, but this is definitely a worst case scenario."

"Do you remember the scene in 'Butch Cassady and the Sundance Kid' when they try to rob the train? Well the other members of the Council call Alexander and Faith's group 'The Wild Bunch' for a reason and the last thing the world needs is the two of them butting heads with the Batman."

**BTVSDCBTVSDC**

Violet Knowles shouldered open the front door of the town home, her arms filled with bags of ice-cream, and headed through the living room towards the kitchen.

"Hey, everybody," The red-head called out. "Look what followed me home. Can I keep him?"

"No," Rona bantered, not bothering to look up from the TV show she was watching. "You can't even take care of Xander and he's house broken."

"Hey," Floated out from the kitchen.

"That's not fair," Vi quipped, moving into the kitchen. "I take him out for walks almost every night."

"Yeah," The dark skinned beauty responded looking up. "But when was the last time you…fed…him?" She trailed off as she watched the dark figure melt in from the night. "Shit, Check it out."

A second latter Faith sauntered out through the kitchen door. The elder slayer paused for a moment in surprise and then a predatory grin crossed her face.

"Nice outfit, Bats. Did it come with a ball-gag?" Getting no response other than a growl and a fairly affective glare, she turned her head and called for the last member of the team. "Yo, X. We got guest."

Moving into the room, Xander took in the cape, the cowl and the form-fitting body-suit and a huge grin crossed his face.

"Nice outfit. Did it come with…?" He started only to be interrupted by Violet's voice coming from the kitchen.

"We already did that bit."

"Did you get the fu…?"

"…Fuzzy handcuffs? Yeah, that was me."

"Why are you here?" Batman growled.

"House-sitting," Xander answered as an aside. "What about the ball…"

Faith raised her hand with a shrug. "That was me, just now. Tell ya what, if we run into the Flash, you can have first crack at him."

"Oh, come on," The one-eyed man whined, waving his hand up and down towards the approaching vigilantly.

The Dark Slayer's smirk broadened as she tilted her head in thought. "Okay, point; you can have the first two shots."

"Why are you here," Growled the Dark Knight again.

"I've always wanted to visit Gotham," The original Scooby responded, turning to face the hero. "It's kinda like the set of a Tim Burton film, but more Goth-y."

"I think you mean 'gothic'," Rona helped.

"Whatever."

With a surge of motion the Dark Knight grabbed the one-eyed man by his shirt and slammed him up and against the wall.

"Why are you in Gotham!?"

**END CHAPTER #7**


End file.
